The Sword in the Stone
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Many tales existed in Elibe of swords and the heroes that wielded them. Few were told of the ones who gave their weapons up.


**The Sword in the Stone**

Greetings, weary traveller.

My apologies for my presumption, for the look in your eyes tell me that you are not weary at all. Your face has all the markings of youth, of a man who has tasted war, but not yet tired of it. This is no inditement, but surely you know that war is coming to this land. I notice that you ride east, after all.

No heraldry with you stranger – no banner mounted to your lance, no sigil upon your sword. Are you a mercenary then?

Yes, of course you are. And though you might think that I sit in judgement, I offer none. I cannot claim to be so righteous as to hold myself above the taste of gold. Why, I have been paid well for the services I offered. Services that mostly involved giving orders to men such as yourself, rather than fighting alongside you. I would like to think that my hands are clean, but alas, a mind such as mine is a burden. One tends to see the truth of things. So when I say you ride east, when I say you ride to Bern, when I say that you plan to offer your services to King Zephiel in the coming war, I do so in the knowledge that truth is what comes out of my tongue.

You do not deny it stranger. To Bern you ride, and for Bern you shall fight. Bern, the mightiest of kingdoms, rivalled only by Etruria. Bern, founded by Hartmut. Bern, which shall plunge the continent into war in a manner of months. I have heard a saying that a kingdom is only as good as its people. I believe it can only be as good as its ruler. For indeed, across all our lands, people will follow even the maddest of orders if the words come from a mouth deemed righteous. And King Zephiel is nothing but not loved. And he will remain loved as long as Bern gets easy victories.

You may claim otherwise, but you know that the first victories shall indeed be easy. Bern does not have a mind like mine, even though they once warred with Etruria for it. You know they will strike north first, that Sacae and Ilia will fall. I imagine you will be paid well for your services to the crown, for these will be easy targets. Understand, I have known Sacaeans and Ilians both, but neither country is strong, least as we define it. The people of Sacae are valiant, but they are scattered, divided – speed can only avail you so much against an army of thousands, and some armour can withstand even the best aimed arrows. And Ilia, land of the frozen north, the land that sends its sons and daughters to fight in others' wars…what experience does it have in defending itself? Even those who soar in the sky cannot avail against those that will swarm across the ground.

I wonder stranger, whether you will keep fighting for the king after such conquests. Because while I can only guess at the king's motives, I can already see his intentions. After the lands of the north fall, Lycia will be next. How that war will turn out, I cannot say. But I believe it is possible for Bern to succeed. It may even come to defeat Etruria, at which point, all of Elibe will know the same banner. Perhaps a thousand years from now, people will look back at the peace won. One continent, one kingdom, one people. Still, a thousand years ago, two peoples called this continent home. Twenty years ago, I saw the fruits of such division. A second Scouring is something I have no interest in, and so, I sequester myself here.

But of course, this means nothing to you stranger. Your eyes wander, and your ears are limp. I, of weakening body and ever growing beard, mean nothing to you. What has caught your eye is the sword next to me. The sword plunged into this stone. Perhaps you think yourself as one of the Seven Heroes reborn, destined to pull a weapon out of rock. Or perhaps you just want a nice shiny sword. For indeed, the Sol Katti is nothing if not beautiful. Deadly too, I will concede, but that will always depend on the one who wields it.

Yes, stranger, I say the Sol Katti. The Mani Katti has returned to its temple, but if the priests there know what is good for them, they will hide it. They may not be able to spare their temple, but they may be able to spare its relic. You may ride there if you will stranger, but you may miss the coming war if you do so.

You dismount stranger. Disappointing, but not unexpected. No, I will not stop you from trying to take the sword, but would it please your ears to hear the tale of how it came to be here? Perhaps you believe I moralize when I say that swords best remain in stones rather than flesh, that of all the tales of great kings pulling swords from stones to unite Elibe, there are none where the story's end was with the sword being plunged into stone. Will you humour an old man?

I'm not that old you say? Perhaps. Certainly, I am young compared to others I have known. One man in particular, who if I uttered his name, you would deem me mad for claiming to have known him. I could utter the name of another as well, but his name is best lost to history. But I see you grow impatient stranger, so I will come out and say that yes, I knew the one who wielded the Sol Katti. I cannot say I fought alongside her…yes, _her_, stranger, do not be so surprised. And…yes, I know the question upon your tongue. I see it as clear as day behind your eyes. And to that I say, the answer is no. You cannot meet her. No-one can.

Oh to love gold stranger – that is always plentiful. It is easy to obtain. I thought that gold might satiate my own desires, for it was clear after all was said and done, that my first desire could never be met. I will concede that the fault was mine in part, for I have said more this day than I might have in one of the two great years of my life. It is interesting, how love might bloom on the battlefield. People say that nearly dying together can be a bonding experience, and indeed, I saw more bonds forged than I could count. But her bonds were with someone else. Someone who still draws breath, and who can look on both sky and earth. I doubt either of them ever knew what I felt. Perhaps it is best that way. So when they found happiness, I searched for my own. Gold. Glory. Enough of it that two great nations did war to have me, and I thus realized the truth. My hands are not clean. Even if I did not wield the sword as others might, blood found their way back to them all the same. Enough that when the banners of Etruria and Bern were raised, I fled. I knew that this time, there would be no victory. I could not fight for either or choose a third party, lest the bloodshed be extended. To Sacae I fled. She had found me there once. Perhaps I could find myself again.

I found her, oh stranger. In her last days. The water sickness, the people of Sacae call it. It takes young and old, fair and feeble alike. Few words exchanged stranger, but I think she knew. That some word of what had happened over the past decade and a half had reached her. For the one she had chosen, no words were uttered. But she bid me do this one last thing. To take the swords that had been entrusted to her. The one she had brought into the world would know only the horse and bow, and she would, Father Sky willing, would never need to take up the sword. That I would not have to either. I cannot say if she knew what had lain within my heart when first I looked upon her, but at that point, it scarce mattered. Once, she had been there when I awoke. This time, I was there for her when she entered final rest. Born under Father Sky, returned to Mother Earth. That is the way of the Kutolah. Beyond that, I cannot say – indeed, I doubt that anything lies "beyond" at all. But we all have our ways of dealing with the passing of loved ones. I suppose my own was to take the sword, and to return to the lands of my birth. The border between Bern and Sacae – born between two worlds, belonging to neither. Perhaps that is why, like you, I was a mercenary.

So indeed, the sword came to rest here stranger. I would love to claim some great magic was involved in its insertion, but nay, nothing more than alchemy. A weapon will grow dull with continuous use, but I have found that the mind can long be honed. I cannot claim how effective my work has been, for I have never taken the sword's hilt within my hands.

But maybe none of this matters stranger. Maybe you still seek to ride to Bern. Maybe you still crave golden love, as I did. Perhaps you too are running away from feelings unrequited, or perhaps all your wishes will be granted under the banner of King Zephiel. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…ever the word I am cursed with, thinking of words never said, of deeds never undertaken. One might say that by the word, by the question of what if, I am forever marked. A strange name, she said, but in these last few years of solitude, I have recognised its truth. So many truths. Truths that have imparted.

But we know what the question is stranger. The only question that matters now. And so, at last, I shall ask it.

Will you take the sword?


End file.
